


Words Left Unspoken

by Spottedfyre



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Fix-It, Hurt/Comfort, It's a bit idealistic but a little idealism never hurt anyone, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-28
Updated: 2019-10-28
Packaged: 2021-01-06 00:54:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,210
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21217871
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spottedfyre/pseuds/Spottedfyre
Summary: The Alliance has won the war, and everyone is settling into their new lives. Except that Felix has no life to settle into. He's lost his family, his homeland, and it's only a matter of time before he loses his lover to an arranged marriage. Things will be easier - for him and Sylvain - if he just leaves now, before fate forces them apart. But leaving isn't as easy as it seems.A Sylvix fix-it fic. Also contains brief mentions of Lorenz/Byleth. And Ferdinand von Aegir.





	Words Left Unspoken

**Author's Note:**

> It's been almost three years since I've been on this site. I'd retired from the fanfic life. Moved on to original works only. Forgotten my password and abandoned my stories here, never to return. Or so I thought. 
> 
> But three months ago, I started playing a game called Fire Emblem: Three Houses. The first Fire Emblem game on a home console in ten years. And the first Fire Emblem title I've genuinely enjoyed since the Tellius series. Its characters are (for the most part) well-rounded, likable, and believably written, with a wide variety of supports and satisfying character endings. There's just one problem: I'm a loyal member of the Golden Deer house, and Felix and Sylvain are one of my favorite support pair-ups. Due to Felix's tendency to become a wandering murder-hobo outside of Azure Moon, this combination of traits does not mix well. And so, tired of seeing queer-coded characters denied the happy endings they deserve (and seeing Sylvain and Felix go all Brokeback Mountain on me in my otherwise-happy ending text crawls), I decided that something had to be done.
> 
> So, I sat down and wrote this fix-it fic for these boys and their Verdant Wind ending, because that seemed like the best way to get my lingering frustration out of my system. This fic also doubles as an S-support for Sylvain and Felix, if you're inclined to see it that way, and includes a new support ending for them written in the style of the game's ending text crawls.
> 
> Thanks in advance for reading this. I sincerely hope you enjoy it.

Winters in Faerghus were notoriously harsh. This one was no exception. Felix wasn’t surprised by the blizzard raging outside the old fort he and Sylvain had taken shelter in. It was the Pegasus Moon; he was surprised they hadn’t been hit with one sooner.

Only fools ventured out in this weather. If the freezing winds and snows didn’t kill them, they risked wandering straight into the jaws of starving wolves or demonic beasts. Now that the war was over, there were bands of Imperial holdouts to worry about, too. And here in the mountains at the edge of Gautier territory, incursions from the Sreng region were always possible.

That was why Felix needed to leave tonight. It was the only way he could make sure he wasn’t followed.

There was nothing left for him in Faerghus. Maybe nothing left for him in all of Fodlan. The war was over. Half a year after its end, the last of Edelgard’s supporters were either dead or driven out of Faerghus. Felix had seen to that. With Sylvain’s help, in spite of Felix’s protests.

Avenging the boar – no, avenging _Dimitri_ – had been his responsibility, not Sylvain’s. Leaving Faerghus to join the Alliance army had been Felix’s idea, after all. But Felix couldn’t deny that Sylvain’s insistence on fighting at his side had made things easier. So had Sylvain’s company. He was the one thing Felix was going to miss, leaving his homeland behind.

Felix allowed himself one last glance at the man sleeping beside him – the one weak spot he had left. A final moment of hesitation before doing what was best for both of them.

The flames crackling in the fireplace beside their bed lit the room just well enough to see by. Sylvain had an arm slung around Felix’s waist, as usual. His tousled, red hair was the one bright spot in the room – so different from the grimy stone walls and dusty linens around them. Soft. Warm. Begging to be touched. Asleep, he had a smile on his face, softer and smaller than the smirky grin he wore when he was awake. Somehow, it seemed more real, too. But that was just Felix deluding himself. Seeing what he wanted to see. He knew better.

Still, that smile was almost enough to shake Felix’s resolve. Almost.

He slipped out from under Sylvain’s arm and the heavy blankets covering them. Gathered his clothes off the floor and dressed himself before he could start shivering.

Sylvain’s deep, even breathing filled the silence around them. He’d always been a heavy sleeper. Felix envied him that; since the war’s end, Felix’s ghosts had kept him from sleeping soundly. Tonight, Felix was grateful for that. It made things easier.

He’d been preparing for this moment for days. Kept everything he needed hidden under the bed, ready for a night like this. It had been easy. There wasn’t much to hide.

Felix had packed lightly. Gathered only what he needed and could carry on his back. Snowshoes, bedroll, hunting bow. Some pilfered food stores from the fort’s kitchen, in case game was scarce. His battalion could stay here until the spring thaw. He trusted Sylvain to get them home safely. He didn’t like relying on anyone but himself anyway.

The weight of his swords against his hip was reassuring. Sharpened steel was sturdy. Reliable. Uncomplicated. The only ally he needed. He was ready to leave.

Felix took his first steps toward the door. Stopped when he heard Sylvain groan and shift in his sleep behind him. When Felix glanced over his shoulder, he found Sylvain rolled over onto his side of the bed, clinging to his pillow. Sylvain’s smile was gone. Felix’s pack felt heavy on his shoulders.

He couldn’t leave Sylvain like this. There was a chance he’d wake up – before Felix had been gone long enough for the snow to cover his tracks. Felix couldn’t let that happen.

He knelt by the fireplace and added more wood to the fire. Stoked the flames until they burned warm and bright again. Then – against his better judgment – he went back to the bed and readjusted the blankets to make sure Sylvain was fully covered.

Felix turned his back on Sylvain. Walked to the door. Rested his free hand on the hilt of his sword to steady himself as he turned the knob and swung the door open.

The hinges squealed – loud enough to wake the dead. And Sylvain. Felix didn’t need the confused grunt and sound of rustling blankets behind him to tell him that.

Felix froze in the doorway. Through clenched teeth, he prayed to a long-dead goddess for Sylvain to just go back to sleep. Felix couldn’t talk about this with Sylvain. Not now, not ever. Sylvain wouldn’t understand.

“Felix?” The voice was low and husky from sleep, but familiar. And the last thing Felix wanted to hear.

Felix cringed. Without looking back, he said, “You’re awake.”

“So are you. And you’re dressed for traveling. What’s going on here?”

“Nothing.”

“Are you sure? Because it looks like you’re getting ready to leave. Without me. Am I right?”

Felix kept his eyes on the floor. “Yes.”

“Oh.” Sylvain said it in his heartbroken voice. The real one, not the one he used when he’d gotten himself in trouble with some girl. Felix hated that he knew the difference. “And you weren’t even…. You didn’t want to at least tell me first? Really?”

“Sylvain….” Felix started to turn, then stopped himself. If he turned around, he was lost. “I…. It isn’t like that.”

“Then what is it like, Felix? Tell me, please. I’m all ears.” The blankets rustled again. The sound of Sylvain’s bare feet pattering on the stone floor broke Felix’s resolve.

He turned around. Sylvain stood before him, a wounded look in his eyes. Naked as the day he was born. Shameless.

Felix looked away. “Put something on first. I’m not talking to you like this; you’re distracting.”

Sylvain laughed, but it sounded strained. “I mean, that’s kind of the point, isn’t it? But all right. I’ll cover up.”

“Thank you.” Felix tried not to watch as Sylvain wandered the room, like he didn’t know what he was looking for. He should have just left. He should leave now, instead of wasting his time on explanations. He’d made up his mind. Sylvain wasn’t changing that. There was no reason to waste time arguing over it.

A moment later, Sylvain stopped. “Hey, Felix?”

“What?”

“Where are my pants?”

“Are you serious?” Felix snarled. “How can you be this helpless?”

Sylvain shrugged. “To be fair, you had them last. But yeah, I am pretty helpless. So, help?”

“Fine.” Felix found the pants – lying in a crumpled heap in the corner he’d tossed them into earlier – and threw them back at Sylvain. “There. Are you happy now?”

“Happier.” Sylvain tugged his pants on. Fastened just enough buttons to keep them from falling off. “But I still think we should talk about this. Before… you do whatever it is you’re planning to do.”

“You can’t stop me.”

“I know.” Sylvain held up his hands and sat on the edge of the bed. “And I’m not going to try. You’d kick my ass, just like you do every time I spar with you. And, seeing as you were about to leave me without even saying ‘goodbye,’ I apparently deserve a good ass-kicking. I’d just like to know why.”

Felix couldn’t say no. Not when Sylvain was being so reasonable. He was always so _reasonable_ – especially when Felix wasn’t. And it never stopped being frustrating. With a scowl, he blurted out, “There’s nothing left for me here.”

“What makes you say that?”

Too many things to count. But Felix supposed he should start with the obvious. Maybe that would be enough to shut Sylvain up. “Everyone’s dead. Ingrid, Dimitri… everyone we lost in Duscur. Faerghus is dead now, too – everything’s just one big Foldan now.”

Sylvain nodded. “We can’t go back to the way things used to be. And that’s hard. But do you remember what you said to me on the night we left for the Alliance? How we should be fighting for something that matters, instead of dying for old corpses?”

Felix could never forget that night. After joining forces with Sylvain to beat back an imperial incursion that threatened both Fraldarius and Gautier territories, he’d asked Sylvain to run away with him to Garreg Mach instead of returning home to his father. Sylvain had followed him almost without question. Just before the following dawn – scared out of their minds and huddled together against the cold, hiding in an abandoned farmhouse from the search parties their families’ armies sent after them – they’d made love for the first time. No words, just feelings. And the calm sense of comfort that came after, while Sylvain clung to Felix like their lives depended on it and Felix tried to act like he wasn’t enjoying every moment of it. Not much had changed since then, really. It just happened more often and less awkwardly.

“Of course I remember,” Felix muttered, face flushed from the memory. “What about it?”

“You were right. The people we’ve lost shouldn’t force us to keep fighting a losing battle. But they shouldn’t scare us away from picking up the pieces once that battle is lost, either. Faerghus isn’t gone; it’s just different now. And as long as we remember what it used to be, that won’t go away, either.”

Felix shook his head. “You don’t understand. I killed Dimitri. After five years of thinking he was dead, he wasn’t… and then I killed him.” Technically, Edelgard’s soldiers had dealt the finishing blow. But Felix had caused the injuries that made Dimitri too weak to fight them off. It was his fault. His burden to carry.

“And I killed Ingrid. You aren’t the only one with ghosts, Felix. I’m sure we all had to kill someone we didn’t want to fight – that’s just war. But if they were here now, I don’t think they’d want us to run away from them. I think they’d want us to stay and help with the clean-up. Finish the fight against their enemies and restore the kingdom they died trying to protect.” Sylvain ran a hand through his hair, a haunted look in his eyes. “Maybe it won’t be enough to make them forgive us for what we did… but at least then we can say we tried when we see them again.”

Sylvain wasn’t wrong. But he was also missing the point. Felix tried again. “The war _is _finished. Now the clean-up may as well be over, too. There isn’t a single worthy opponent left in Faerghus. My sword’s growing dull already – I need to leave before it rusts.”

“The clean-up’s probably finished just about everywhere. Byleth and Lorenz have the Alliance under control, and they turned Ferdinand loose on what’s left of the Empire. There won’t be any worthy opponents for you in all of Fodlan by now.” Sylvain crossed his arms over his chest and gave Felix a knowing look. “And before you get started on that, Claude’s got enough schemes to handle the rest of the world. Maybe it’s time to find a new way to keep yourself sharp – there’s still mountains of work left to do. You’d just be doing your fighting with a pen instead.”

Felix scoffed. “Don’t start with that ‘the pen is mightier than the sword’ nonsense again. Paperwork is tedious. Politics are worse. What happens to Fodlan now that it’s unified is up to our professor and that rose-scented busybody she’s marrying, not us. I’m happy to leave them to it.”

Sylvain’s shoulders slumped. His hands fell into his lap, clasped together like he wasn’t sure what to do with them. “So, you never meant any of it. About us going home together after all this was over. Setting right everything our parents – and their parents’ parents, all the way back to the Ten Elites – did to make the world the disaster it was….” His voice trailed off.

Sylvain shook his head, then continued, “The world’s going to be a disaster again if we don’t all do better this time, Felix. I thought you knew that.”

Felix couldn’t meet Sylvain’s eyes. “I know. It’s not…. I didn’t mean to—”

“And what about us?” Sylvain’s voice had an edge to it that Felix rarely heard off the battlefield. “Was that all a lie, too? All this time, I thought I was…. I thought we were… you know. Something special. I don’t want that to be over.”

“Neither do I.” Felix met Sylvain’s accusatory gaze – and held it, despite every fiber of his being screaming at him to look away. Sylvain _was _special to him. The most special thing in the world. “But it has to be over…. Doesn’t it? How long do you think we’ll last, if we go home together? You’ve said it yourself: it’s only a matter of time until your father finds a wife for you. After that, we…. I can’t….” Felix’s voice faltered. He broke eye contact. Focused on the scars – old and new – covering Sylvain’s torso instead.

“You can’t what?” Sylvain didn’t sound angry anymore. Just curious. Felix wished that made things easier.

Felix took a deep breath to steady himself. “I can’t live like that. I won’t be your dirty little secret. Or stick around to watch you marry some girl.”

“You really think that’s what’s going to happen if we go home together?”

  
Felix nodded.

“Felix….” Sylvain slid off the bed and slowly approached Felix, one hand halfway extended toward him. Felix tensed when Sylvain rested that hand on his shoulder. “I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry. If I’d known—”

“Don’t apologize. It’s not your fault; I’m the one who can’t accept it. So I’m leaving. You’ll probably be happier this way anyway.”

“I won’t. And neither will you.” Sylvain pulled Felix into a crushing hug, resting his chin on top of Felix’s head. “You didn’t let me finish. I don’t want to marry a girl someone else chose for me. Or any girl at all. And I _won’t _marry one. I’ll do anything else my father asks of me as the heir to House Gautier, but not that. That’s where I’m drawing the line.”

“What?” Felix struggled out of Sylvain’s arms and looked up to study his face. This was some kind of sick joke. It had to be.

But Sylvain wasn’t smiling. Or laughing. Just looking down at Felix with that stupid, tender look in his eyes that always made Felix’s heart melt. “You heard me. I should’ve told you sooner. I just… thought you already knew, I guess. I’m sorry I let things get to this point.”

Felix shook his head. “You’re not… getting married?”

Sylvain smirked, a glint in his eyes. Felix didn’t trust that glint. It meant he was up to something. “Well, I didn’t say _that_.”

“Yes, you did. You said you weren’t going to marry a girl.”

“Exactly.” Sylvain took a step backward, then stopped. Cast a wary glance at the open door behind Felix. “If I turn my back on you, you won’t leave… right? Promise me I’m not going to turn around and find you walking out that door?”

Felix let out a frustrated sigh. “I promise.” For emphasis, he shut the door and slid his pack off his shoulders. He wanted to see where this was going.

“All right. Now close your eyes – no peeking.”

“Why?” Felix crossed his arms over his chest. “Just tell me what you’re doing. You’re acting strange, Sylvain.”

“Sorry. Can’t do that.” Sylvain reached out and tapped Felix on the nose. “You’re just going to have to trust me, all right?”

Felix scowled.

Sylvain laughed. “You’re going to like this, I promise. Or at least, I hope you will. This isn’t how I planned to do things, but”—Sylvain shrugged—“I guess it’s not going to change how you feel either way. So, please. Humor me. Just this once.”

“Fine.” Felix shut his eyes. “But if this is something dumb….”

Felix left the threat unfinished. He was more interested in the sound of Sylvain rummaging through something on the other side of the room. Too interested to stop himself from cracking one eye open to see what was going on.

Sylvain sat near his traveling pack, half its contents strewn across the floor around him. He pulled something – Felix couldn’t make out what it was – out from the bottom of the pack. Then he breathed a sigh of relief and stood up.

Felix closed his eye again. Tried not to fidget while Sylvain padded across the floor toward him. This was torture. He hated it.

“All right. You can open your eyes now.”

Felix obeyed. Found Sylvain kneeling in front of him, his hands clasped around something. Felix’s heartbeat sped up, like he was hoping for… something. He didn’t know what. “What are you doing?” he asked, cringing at how breathy his voice sounded.

“Something crazy. Probably something dumb, too. But I have to try.” Sylvain squared his shoulders, face set into a determined look, and opened his hands to reveal a simple gold band, set with three small sapphires. Each was the same deep indigo color as Felix’s hair. “Felix Hugo Fraldarius, will you marry me?”

Felix’s jaw dropped. His knees buckled, and he leaned against the door for support. This wasn’t real. It couldn’t be real. Things this good didn’t happen to him.

“Felix?” Sylvain’s eyes were wide, his brow furrowed in concern. “Are you all right?”

“Of course not! This isn’t funny, Sylvain. If I’d known you were just going to tease me like this, I…. I….” Felix’s voice trailed off into a frustrated growl. This was his punishment for staying and hearing Sylvain out. He deserved nothing less for being so foolish.

“I’m not teasing you. I love you, Felix. And I want to spend the rest of my life with you, if you’ll let me. We’ve always been there for each other, ever since we were kids. So please, let me be here for you now. You’re hurting – and I’m sorry for not seeing that sooner – but you don’t need to hurt alone.”

Felix’s strength failed him. He slumped against the door and slid down to the floor, hugging his knees against his chest. He shook his head, trying to shake away the tears prickling at his eyes. “But we can’t get married. It’s impossible – we’re both men, and House Gautier needs a Crest-bearing heir. You can’t just walk away from that. You care too much.”

“Before the war, I’d have said the same thing. But now…. This is supposed to be a new Fodlan, right? We know the truth about Crests, and soon, the rest of the world will, too. I’m hoping that once the truth gets out, Crests and bloodlines won’t matter as much anymore.”

Felix scoffed. “You really think the nobility will change that easily?”

Sylvain shrugged. He shoved the ring into his pocked and sat cross-legged on the floor, facing Felix. “Maybe they won’t. But even if Crests still matter, my family only needs our Crest for fighting against Sreng. And I’m done with fighting – if I never see the Lance of Ruin again, it’ll be too soon. We made peace with Almyra, didn’t we? Why not Sreng, too?”

“If anyone’s going to negotiate a peace treaty with Sreng, it’s you,” Felix conceded. Sylvain had never met a problem he couldn’t talk his way out of. “But who’s going to inherit your title after you? You don’t have relatives, like I do. After your father dies, you’re the last of your bloodline.”

“Then my bloodline ends with me. That doesn’t make me the last of the Gautier family, though. We can just adopt some orphans – Fodlan’s probably overflowing with kids who’ve lost their parents now – and I’ll pass my title on to one of them. We can pass your title on that way, too. What do you think?”

Felix sniffled, wiping away a stray tear running down his cheek. “I think it’s exactly the kind of dumb plan you always think of. And… I think I like it.”

“Do you like it enough to stick around and help me with it?” Sylvain held a hand out toward Felix.

Felix took his hand. Let Sylvain pull him onto his lap, and relaxed against Sylvain’s chest while Sylvain held him. He couldn’t leave now. He’d lost his chance to leave the moment he and Sylvain started talking. He didn’t care.

Felix pressed himself closer to Sylvain. Kissed a scar on his bare shoulder – one of the ones he’d gotten while protecting Felix. “Maybe. If it works.”

Sylvain hugged him tighter. “Then I’ll make it work. I promise.”

“Good.” Felix slipped a hand between them and tried to reach into Sylvain’s pocket without moving off his lap.

Sylvain tensed. “Um…. I’m not saying I don’t like where this is going, but are you sure you don’t want to move this to the bed first? This floor is cold, and it’s not going to be friendly to anyone’s back – or knees – in the morning. Trust me.”

“That’s not what I’m doing, you insatiable fool.” Felix gave up on Sylvain’s pocket and reached up to gently tug at his hair instead. “I want the ring. It looked nice.”

“Oh. Right. The ring.” Sylvain eased Felix off his lap and stood, pulling Felix onto his feet with him.

Sylvain knelt again. Took Felix’s left hand in both of his. He pulled Felix’s glove off, letting it fall to the floor, and pressed his lips against Felix’s bare hand.

Felix fought the blush creeping onto his face. Lost the fight when Sylvain fished the ring out of his pocket and slid it onto Felix’s finger. It fit perfectly. Felix didn’t know how he’d managed that.

“Marry me?” Sylvain breathed.

Felix nodded. A part of him had wanted this – wanted it so bad it _hurt_ – ever since, in the wake of Glenn’s death, he and Sylvain had promised to stay together until they died. He could never have given any other answer.

“Thank you. I’m going to spend the rest of my life making you the happiest man in the world. Whatever it takes.” Sylvain wrapped his arms around Felix’s legs and pulled him close. “I’ll snowshoe home tonight to tell my father he isn’t getting any Crest babies out of me, if you want. Just say the word.”

Felix held onto Sylvain’s shoulders to steady himself. “You don’t have to do that. And stop kneeling. You’re making this awkward.”

“Sorry. I guess I got a bit carried away.” Sylvain let go of Felix and got to his feet. “It’s just…. I love you. More than anything. And I want you to be happy.”

“I _am _happy.” Felix wrapped his arms around Sylvain’s neck and stood on his toes to kiss him.

Sylvain gathered Felix into his arms and picked him up. Somehow, he managed to do it without breaking the kiss.

Felix couldn’t find it in him to complain – this time. It gave him better access to what he wanted. Instead of struggling and demanding to be put down, he relaxed in Sylvain’s arms. Wrapped his legs around Sylvain’s waist to help support his weight. Kissed Sylvain harder.

Then, reluctantly, Felix pulled away. He turned his face toward Sylvain’s ear, ready to say more, but lost himself in Sylvain’s heavy breathing and the rhythm of Sylvain’s heartbeat.

Sylvain broke the silence. “So… time to go back to bed?”

Felix grunted his assent. Let Sylvain carry him back to their bed. But before he let Sylvain lay him down, Felix held him tighter. Kissed Sylvain’s cheek close to his ear and whispered, “Sylvain? I love you, too.”

For tonight, at least, they didn’t need any more words than that. Just feelings. And the calm sense of comfort when Sylvain clung to him, after – tighter than usual, like some part of him was still afraid of Felix leaving.

Felix ran a reassuring hand through Sylvain’s hair. A happy huff of breath escaped him at the sight of Sylvain’s ring on his finger, sapphires gleaming in the firelight. As though he could ever leave Sylvain, when Sylvain had given him so much to stay for. Sylvain needed Felix; they both knew he’d never manage on his own. Sylvain was shameless. Helpless. Foolish. _His_. And maybe, just maybe… Felix needed Sylvain, too.

* * *

Soon after succeeding his father as Margrave Gautier, Sylvain announced his marriage to Felix. Sylvain worked tirelessly to improve relations with the people of the Sreng region and create a world in which Relics and Crests were no longer viewed as necessary. He was rarely seen without Felix at his side, shouting down Sylvain’s most vocal critics with a tongue that was said to cut as deeply as his sword. In their later years, they retired from the public eye, leaving their territories and political careers in the capable hands of their adopted children. Little is known of their lives after this point, but it is said that they remained inseparable until their dying day, and passed away within hours of each other.


End file.
